


the heaven heist

by Nitrobot



Series: Blue Blood Blues [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cannibalistic Thoughts, F/M, Headcanon, Inferno References (La Divina Commedia | The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri), Kidnapping, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitrobot/pseuds/Nitrobot
Summary: With an army of angels, the population of Hell could be reduced by half in a single day. Alastor managed the same feat in two months, with just a little help from some old friends. But then, just as he reached the center of Hell where Lucifer himself held his court, his massacre ceased. Alastor left the castle capital of Pandaemonium empty-handed, and never returned. Now the only demons who see him are those who summon him willingly, or those who are desperate enough to need his aid.What did the King of Hell say to the Radio Demon to quell his rebellion, to stop him from usurping the throne? What did he show him? And where do Hellborns actually come from?
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Lilith Magne/Lucifer Magne
Series: Blue Blood Blues [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924825
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	the heaven heist

**Author's Note:**

> This was envisioned as the end for a saga where a human Alastor is a radio host, as well as the defacto leader of a cannibal cult during the Great Depression. Charlotte is also a human, specifically a lounge/cabaret singer who finds comfort in Alastor's show, and they form a bond that eventually becomes romantic even as Alastor wrestles with his bloodlust and hunger. I imagine this would be a pretty long story and I don't have much inspiration/patience to write it all out, so I decided to just skip to the end since that was what I had most motivation for. 
> 
> (Another title for this was Charlie's Inferno, which suits for obvious reasons if you're familiar with the song. And Blue Blood Blues (hence the series name) fits Alastor very well, if you're after musical inspiration for him).

In Hell, days and nights had no real significance. The bars and brothels and strip clubs and drug dens never closed, ensuring there was a place in every circle for demons to indulge in their favorite vices. The sinners slept whenever they could, whenever and wherever they thought they were safe, only for a few hours at a time. Though, now they didn’t sleep at all. Now they carried radios wherever they dared to go, to listen for the arrival of Hell’s latest acquisition- as if any warning would spare them from him. 

But even without days and nights to guide him, Alastor had been keeping track of time as he made his way through the nine circles of his new home. He was rather meticulous about it when he’d been alive so he’d never miss his favorite shows at the cabaret club, never be late for his radio broadcasts, never be caught by the police during their nightly rounds…

But that was all in the past. Far, far in the past. In this new present, he noted that his domination of Hell had taken two months, give or take a few days where he’d been so enraptured by the blood and carnage that he’d lost track of exactly where he was. But then in those forgetful moments, the souls at his shoulder and the shadows within his shadow would remind him in loyal whispers as they fled back from the half-eaten bodies. 

_“The third circle, boss.”_

_“About half way there, Al.”_

_“Fuckers deserve what’s coming to them. All of them.”_

_“They taste burnt, don’t they?”_

Alastor rarely spoke to them, their choruses overlapping and fading so often, but he enjoyed hearing them bicker and curse and grovel all at once. It reminded him of the good days, and kept his mind off of the better ones. Mike had been the only one of them all who had known when to be quiet, which made his new life as a microphone all the more ironic. 

Alastor’s right-hand man, now residing in his right hand. He had laughed when he saw it for himself, and still chuckled when Mike’s eye would glare at him accusingly. As if he had anyone to blame but himself for ending up here. As if _any_ of them could have ever been anything else but Alastor’s puppets. Their deaths were just a parody of their lives, but Alastor would not mock them for it. Not when they had proved themselves so useful, so eager to finish what he’d started up on Earth.

They slaughtered the bystanders while Alastor picked out his favorites, the unlucky ones for a more personal and intimate death, the ones who would best suit his palette. He quickly found that each circle had its own distinct flavor. 

The first, the entrance for any newborn Sinner, hosted a bland and bitter and disappointing assortment. The second held demons and whores with sugar-sweet meat and blood like sour wine. The third was like a carnivore’s dream, fat and gristle wrapped tight around each fragile bone. And as one descended further, the flavors intensified into delicious delights. Smoked meats with a drug-tanged marrow, each demon curing themselves in preparation for their place at the dinner table, the fires of their own damned fury cooking them from within on a slow broil.

By the time Alastor and his shadows reached the ninth circle, the core of Hell and the Earth itself, he was salivating in anticipation. The monument of the circle, the capital of all Hell itself and Alastor’s final destination, was Pandaemonium. That was what Vox had called it through a static-clogged throat, while picking up the broken glass of his face from the floor. He could still speak because Alastor expected to find wires and circuitry in his automaton body, nothing edible or worth the effort of killing him. 

Yes, effort. Even with an army of souls chained behind him, there were some demons Alastor could not simply strike down with his claws or sink his teeth into. These were the Overlords, and they were hard to kill. Alastor wasn’t much interested in them anyway, so long as they stayed out of his way. And after Vox was interrogated and left to put himself back together, the rest of them seemed to get the message. Maybe some were sitting back and enjoying the show, watching the warpath that lead in one direction towards their master. 

Alastor entered Pandaemonium with blood on his shoes, a belly full of secondhand sins and not a single demon trying to turn him away. In a stark contrast to the burning flames and the red skies that had come before, the brimstone and darkness that coated Lucifer’s great castle seemed to be carved from ice. The stone was so blindly white, the aura so cold and hostile, that one couldn’t think of it being anything else. 

“This is really it, huh, Al?” Mike stared up at the cavernous front doors just as Alastor did, and there was a shudder in his voice that betrayed what his inanimate body could not.

“Indeed it is, old friend.” Alastor sighed, somewhat disappointed that it had all been so easy. Where was the punishment? Where was the eternal torture, the sorrow and guilt and endless suffering he had been promised? He almost would have thought this place was Heaven… but _she_ wasn’t here, and hopefully she never would be. A grateful thing. A blessed thing. The only truly _good_ thing to have come from all that had happened.

“Well, no point leaving our listeners in suspense any longer.” Turning his back on the doors, Alastor brought his microphone close and put on his grin- though no one could see it, he always believed that people could tell from your voice how your face was arranged. And it wouldn’t do to be any less than fully-dressed for the thrilling climax of his magnum opus.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are now reaching the conclusion of our nine-part series, ‘the Rise of the Radio Demon’!” It wasn’t quite the moniker he would have given himself, but it had spread so far so quickly that there was little he could do to stop the few survivors using it. And there was something about people not knowing your true name that he rather enjoyed. No way to dig into your past. No way to know what you really are under the title.

“I’d like to personally thank you all for listening,” he continued with a deep bow, “and especially to thank those who so graciously took part! I’ll look forward to entertaining you all again very soon. But for now... let me treat you to my greatest show yet, starring everyone’s favorite fallen angel...”

And so, turning on his heel with ease, he wrapped his gloved claws around the handles of the mighty doors, each twirl of gold metal carved into a shape like two halves of an apple, and let himself in. What lay beyond was not an entrance hall, or a trap, or a dungeon. It was a sitting room of sorts, complete with three elegant chairs arranged around a pit of roaring hellfire that offered the only source of lighting. The effect was to hide everything else in the room, the placement of any other doors and even the walls themselves. Alastor could not see how large or small the space really was, but that was not the focal point for his attention. One of the chairs was occupied by a silhouette, his posture alert and coiled like a snake. 

“I’ve been expecting you, Alastor.” The figure spoke with a distinctive yet subtle hiss, one that could easily tempt a saint into sin. “Take a seat, please. Make yourself comfortable.”

Alastor allowed a fleeting glance over his shoulder, just quick enough to confirm that what lay behind him was not an exit but only more darkness. How appropriate. He stepped into the lair and closed the door behind him, before any more of the dark could leak in.

“You’ve been listening to my show, Lucifer? Why, if I’d known you were a fan I’d have brought something to sign autographs with!” Though the welcoming reception had caught him off-guard, Alastor’s jaunty disposition did not show it as he spoke through his microphone. With his voice projected across the distance, he saw no reason to go any closer to Lucifer than was necessary. Not until he knew what the so-called prince had up his sleeves.

“Oh, I’ve known about you long before your little… parlor tricks decimated half my population,” Lucifer said, his silhouette rippling in the shadow of the hellfire. “Lovely work, by the way; you’ve saved the angels quite a job this year. And I’ve heard Vox has made such a profit on selling radios that he was happy to let you live, even after you destroyed his face!” Hearing his laughter was like drinking sour apple cider, every nerve and muscle in the face protesting and fighting against the unpleasant sensation forced upon them. It made Alastor’s grin grow further across his profile, swelling up like a tumor as he gripped his microphone like the hilt of a sword. The Hell Prince’s cackle then faded, and he turned in his chair to face the Radio Demon still standing an ostensibly safe distance away. It was not a grand reveal or shocking surprise to find the infamous Lucifer with rosy cheeks and a perfectly-combed blonde coif, but what caught Alastor off-guard for the second time was his grin. It was like looking in a mirror (which Alastor had done his best to avoid doing ever since his arrival in Hell).

“Come now, Alastor,” Lucifer drawled through that very-familiar smile, “there’s not a knife hidden under the cushion waiting to fire itself up your ass. Take a seat, I insist!” He gestured to the chair opposite himself with a hand of thin black claws. “You must be exhausted, after so long spent terrorising the masses without even a moment’s rest. And you’ve come so far just to see little ol’ me. I’d like us to talk as the gentlemen we are, not the demons we were made into.”

Alastor turned his gaze to the chair, just as his thin shadows set out across the floor to inspect it. As Lucifer had promised, there were no traps or tricks or poisons lying within. It was stuffed with bright red feathers, as if they were plucked from a phoenix. Alastor found himself imagining a creature cursed to be reborn over and over again, its only purpose to be stripped of its down and left to die to start the cycle over again. He decided he would keep the chairs when Lucifer was dead, and he approached with renewed confidence even as he switched his microphone off. If they were really going to be gentlemen for a while, it wouldn’t do to have anyone eavesdropping on them. 

“Not only expecting,” Alastor said as he flipped his coat-tails aside to lower himself into the offered seat, “but _watching_ me, I see. I feel rather honor-” He was cut off by a sudden groan, a sustained _burp_ that sounded like someone blowing out their tongue. As he sat there, frozen and confused by the unidentified noise, Lucifer started cackling with an unhinged jaw that had his forked tongue flying out wildly, as he held his belly and stamped his feet on the ground in hysterics.

“Oh, the look on your face, Alastor!” Lucifer was still giggling by the time he regained control of his lungs, wiping away tears from his eyes while the red spots on his cheeks flushed with a glow. “Amazing. I haven’t laughed that hard since I got Valentino with that trick. Bravo!”

Alastor had found the source of the noise while waiting for Lucifer to calm down- a whoopie cushion positioned under the chair’s cushion, lying in wait to embarrass anyone who dared sit on top of it. Being pranked by Lucifer- the prospect was so baffling that Alastor couldn’t help but laugh too, even as he pondered how he might be so easily tricked into letting his guard down.

“Why, you’re just full of surprises, sir!” He threw the offending cushion aside and spoke slowly, giving himself time to absorb the sight of a placated Lucifer up close. Hell’s Crown Prince stared with half-lidded eyes the color of tobacco-stained fingertips. Milky, almost translucent eyes that didn’t seem to be paying much attention, the irises simply floating on top. One hand was wrapped around the slender stem of a glass, which must have appeared there recently since it wasn’t spilled all over the floor, filled with red. Whether it was wine or blood or something else one would not want to think about, he did not offer his guest a glass of his own. He was content to simply swirl his drink, and Alastor was content to watch him for the moment he would surely strike. The hellfire between them still crackled with infernal heat, howling like a wind through cracks in the walls, and Lucifer’s stray giggles were like high-pitched sobs from a broken soul.

“Now, where were we…” He stirred his drink in contemplation. “Ah, yes. Your practice-runs on Earth. Usually I just ignore the fanatics on the surface,” he waved his free hand as if to dismiss all of the sort, “unless they’re particularly amusing or dedicated to their worship. And you were quite a swell mix of both.” 

Alastor had a rare lone thought at that, his shadows going silent for once as Lucifer sipped from the rim of his glass.

 _‘You thought I_ worshipped _you?’_ He stopped himself from laughing at such a presumption, the same one the police had branded him and his followers with even before seeing any proof. Lucifer might have been able to see Alastor’s work, hear what his flock whispered in the dark after a bloody meal, but he clearly had no way of seeing inside his head. 

Or maybe he did, and he was just bluffing to see if Alastor admitted to anything. The Radio Demon decided the most polite route was to say nothing at all, which was good enough for Lucifer as he sat back in his feather-stuffed throne with a satisfied sigh.

“Tell me, Al… is it all that you’d hoped for? Has my humble little Hell met your expectations?” He grinned as he awaited the answer, and Alastor returned the expression as he avoided giving one.

“If you’ve really been watching me this whole time, then suppose the real question is ‘have I met yours?’” Alastor’s gloved hands folded over each other in his lap, the end of his move in this back-and-forth game of gentlemen demons masking how much they wanted to kill each other. Lucifer’s head inclined ever so slightly at an angle, and his watercolor eyes narrowed by a fraction of a fraction of an inch. 

“Truth be told, I _am_ quite impressed,” he admitted, and the sincerity was unmistakable to anyone who knew how to best fake it. “Most rebellions don’t even make it past Judgement Day.”

“Because they haven’t had me around to show them how it’s done.” Alastor felt no shame in making his pride known. It wasn’t the worst sin that had sent him here, after all.

“I suppose so,” Lucifer conceded, still hanging his head at an angle as he observed the Radio Demon. “They’re a loyal bunch, those souls under your skin. Following you wherever you go, obeying every command… like dogs. Oh,” he raised a hand to his mouth in mock-offense, a temporary reprieve from the assault of his smile, “or is it too soon to bring those up?”

‘ _I’ll tear you apart in the same way, Lucifer. I know how it’s done. I know which organs you can live longest without.’_

Alastor reached up a hand to reset his monocle, careful not to let any other part of his face falter as he chuckled. “I have to say, I never expected the Prince of Hell to have such a rich sense of humor.”

“King,” Lucifer corrected, his grin twitching at the corners for just a moment of lost composure. “ _King_ of Hell. There is no prince… though we _have_ recently acquired a princess.”

Alastor absorbed the implication in a single blink. “Congratulations.” 

If there was an infant demon in the castle, she would have to die too of course. But Alastor and his shades would not eat her, at least. She would have the dignity of dying young and intact, even if her father would not.

“Well, Alastor,” Lucifer announced as his glass disappeared from his hand with a flourish, “you’ve come all this way. You’ve wrought more destruction than an army of angels could manage. You’ve put the fear of the damned into every demon left clinging to whatever they can salvage. Not to mention ruining countless lives- though, that was _before_ you died. So what is it that you want? A place amongst the Overlords? Money? Whores? Or just the adrenaline rush of knowing you’ve beaten the king of Hell? I’m sure we can reach an understanding, whatever it may be.”

Lucifer almost sounded like he believed it would be that easy. That someone of Alastor’s calibre could be bought off, convinced to leave with meagre material things. Once again, the Radio Demon was forced to suppress laughter as his grin started to drip against his control.

_‘I want to know what royalty tastes like. I want to know what color your blood really is.’_

_“Let’s do it, Alastor…”_

_“He’s right there, right fucking there!”_

_“Get the eyeballs first, boss. Yank them out. Make him watch as we rip in.”_

The shadows, the souls leashed to him until the end of time, were ready because their master was ready. Lucifer sat patiently, waiting for the answer that would find itself feasting on his entrails. Alastor sucked in the saliva pushing past the cracks in his fangs, one claw on the microphone button that would tune him in to his frequency, ready to satisfy his true hunger at last-

“Luci, darling, I have the child ready for- oh.” A new voice, feminine and soft, swept in from nowhere to ruin Alastor’s appetite. He did not turn towards it, did not need to as the newcomer emerged from the darkness beside Lucifer’s chair. “You never told me we had guests.” Her hair was almost identical to the King’s, save for its length and the two ram-horns curving out of the thick tresses. She blinked with eyelashes like daggers, and though part of her body hid behind Lucifer’s chair it was clear that she was as dangerous as any Overlord Alastor had heard the tales of. He could guess who she was before Lucifer turned an adoring gaze up at her, the kind that Alastor himself had once held for a lady that could not be any more unlike the demons in this world.

“Yes, dear,” Lucifer crooned, “I’m afraid Alastor showed up sooner than I was expecting. Al, may I introduce my dear wife, Lilith.” He gestured to her like she was a grand work of art, and she bowed like someone who knew herself as just that.

“Lovely to meet you. I enjoyed watching your little shows on Earth.” Lilith’s head dipped as if her horns were too heavy for her head, but really to show Alastor that they were viable weapons. He could see how they curled to a point that could easily hook through someone’s flesh. Even so, Alastor wasn’t threatened just because he recognised it as a threat. He wanted to ask her which shows she was referring to- the radio? The indoctrinations? The sacrifices?- but neither she nor Lucifer were looking at him now.

“How is she?” Lucifer asked in a soft whisper, placing a hand over Lilith’s as it gripped the chair’s armrest. 

“Fast asleep. The whole ordeal must have left her exhausted, poor thing.”

As Lilith cooed and Alastor sat in ignored confusion, Lucifer chuckled with a gentle shake of his head. “I still remember how I felt after _I_ fell from heaven. And Vox’s cameras are ready?”

“One in every room. And two in hers, just to be safe.”

Then Lucifer sprang to his feet, a cane appearing in his hand as his arms spread wide. “Well, let’s have a look at her! You too, Alastor! Come, get the first viewing of Hell’s newest heir!” Lucifer didn’t stop to see if Alastor was actually following him- but then again, where else could the Radio Demon go? It would be much harder to kill Lucifer now, with a powerful witness in tow. All he could do was trail behind, waiting for another opportunity… at either him, his wife, or their apparent newborn. He would take either of them as a victory.

The royal couple swept through the darkness like parting it with a scalpel; when Lucifer opened a door, the feeble light beyond was almost blinding. Alastor covered his eyes briefly only when he was sure the King and Queen would not look back, and did his best with the eyes of his shadows to take in as much of the castle’s halls as he could, as Lucifer marched in a straight line from the sitting room. Portraits, busts, tapestries, windows looking out onto a central garden that was more like a small forest… Alastor thought he saw a sculpture in the middle, or maybe a fountain; though it was far away, its size and intricate detail allowed anyone knowing to recognise the carved likeness of Lucifer at the feet of an angel. Apple trees with dead leafless branches surrounded the exterior, matching the apple-themed decor of the interior.

And then, as he was still staring through the window, Alastor found himself in a dark room again. This one, however, had many light sources. It was a blue electric glow that choked the air, reflected from a bank of screens mounted on the wall that were nothing like the televisions Alastor had seen in life. For the first time since he began his crusade, he felt disturbed. They were like the square eyes of a creature from the deepest sea, or like cavernous holes in the wall, or…

Like Vox’s face. The one he had smashed apart because he did not trust the eyes that were just pixels, that he could not devour. Alastor increased his grip on his microphone as the screens flickered with life, each one showing a viewpoint of a different room. Lilith and Lucifer stood at each side of the invasive wall, and the Queen let out a soft gasp like the aftermath of a papercut as she pointed a manicured talon at the very centre screen.

“There she is… sound asleep.” She whispered as if her voice would carry through to the room if she didn’t keep it low. “She really looks so much like you, dear.” She turned to Lucifer, and Alastor had to assume there was love in her stiletto eyes because he did not look at her. From another safe distance, in case of another prank or trap or worse, Alastor tried to squint through his monocle at what Lilith was talking about. If he could see what room the infant was in, he might gain a better understanding of the castle’s layout. If he could find a moment with the doting parents distracted by her, he might just manage to deal with both of them as well.

“And if she’s half as beautiful as you, my love,” Lucifer declared at his wife’s side, blocking Alastor’s view, “she’ll have the whole of Hell at her beck and call.” Then Lucifer looked over his shoulder, buttermilk eyes curdling at Alastor like he’d forgotten her was in the room. “Well, come closer, Al! You can’t see her from all the way over there! In fact…” He moved aside and, with some sort of hidden control, the screen’s camera increased focus on the centrepiece. But even then, Alastor could not see what he was looking for until he was standing close enough to reach out and touch the screen. 

And, despite how he loathed the flat and smooth and silent things, he almost did. The room held not an infant, nor an infant’s crib, nor a playroom or nursery or even a baby carriage or basket. This was a young lady tucked into bed, and even lying sideways against a soft pillow her face was one that Alastor could never, ever forget. The recognition was instant, even as he wanted to not see it. 

_‘Charlie…?!’_

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t. It _couldn’t._ It was another one of Lucifer’s pranks, one in the poor taste to be expected from the King of Hell. But, though he was smiling, he wasn’t laughing at all.

“She looks familiar, doesn’t she?” Lucifer floated around him like a bad smell, like a miasma, a swarm of flies around a rotten apple core. “Yes, the resemblance to her old man is quite uncanny, if I say so myself!”

Alastor's grin had finally cracked, flatlining as it compressed itself into something like razor wire across his face. He didn’t notice the facade falling away as his eyes started to ache. “How… how did…?”

“How did such a sweet girl end up in a place like this?” Lucifer finished for him, tutting in such a mockery of sympathy that Alastor briefly had a thought of shoving his microphone down his throat until it hit bone. “Poor girl died just a few months after you did. Tuberculosis. Or, consumption if you prefer the old term. Which I do. It’s very fitting, especially if you’ve seen what it does to a person. In the last few weeks, she couldn’t sing one note without coughing up blood. A sorry sight… by then, death was a blessing. I watched it take her, up until the very last moment, so I would see exactly when her soul would slip out of its shell. It was floating up, of course. You were right about her going to Heaven in the end.”

Alastor listened in a daze, held up straight by his shadows and the support from his microphone’s stand. He could feel himself getting angry. Furious. Murderous. The feelings were old friends. But it was a slow process, like waiting for water to boil over the stove. Putting the lid on to speed up the process, then looking away just as it all starts to bubble over. 

“Then why is she here?” Alastor didn’t dare look away from the screen in case she disappeared, but at the same time he wished that she would. He wished that she was as far away from him, from this place, as possible. Yet, in the nest of her honeycomb hair, she looked so peaceful. So much like the angel she was supposed to be.

“Why else would I be watching her, Alastor?” Lucifer sounded disappointed that the infamous Radio Demon had not connected the dots himself, even in his state of shock. He stood somewhere that he could be seen as he pantomimed the horrid affair he’d orchestrated. 

“So I could steal her soul.” With a snatch of his claws in a fist. “And drag it back down here to stay with me.” Then those curled claws collided with the palm of his other hand. “That’s how Hellborns are made, you know. Usually from infant souls, much easier to grab and incubate in a new demon body. But you can catch any soul if you’re fast enough. And the purer it is, the less sin contaminating it, the easier it is to… corrupt. But don’t go telling anyone, that’s a secret between us Overlords.” He said it with a finger in front of his grin, lips pressed together to sound _shhh_. 

“I was amazed at how quickly she accepted her new body,” Lilith added, now sitting in the corner of the awful surveillance room that felt more like a jail cell the longer Alastor was left frozen in sight of the camera views. “Even more amazed that any human could stay so pure around the likes of you, Alastor.” She said it like it was an inside joke, a teasing scold like a mother telling her daughter’s latest paramor to bring her home before midnight. 

Alastor had always walked her home. Especially after the first body was found, and people were scared to be on the streets at night by themselves. She had walked hand-in-hand with him, asking for honest critique of her song routine, telling him her favorite parts of his show from that day, thanking him over and over for helping her feel safe- with no idea that the reason for all the danger was standing right next to her. 

And now here he was again, watching her from afar. Knowing he had no place with her. Wondering what he’d done to her. His hand felt a crackle from the screen as it reached out, as if there was a forcefield around it to keep him out. Like the static from his radio frequency was disrupting the signal, and soon she would sense him there in her sleep and she would wake and run away. She would be right to do so.

“You get it now, don’t you, Al?” Lucifer dripped with pride, likely his favorite of the sins as he hovered around the edges of Alastor’s perception. “While you were busy treating yourself to my people, crowning yourself the new King of a world you knew nothing about, you had no idea what was going on upstairs. You didn’t even _know_ she was dead. Some _partner_ you turned out to be, hm? Just as well that she remembers nothing of a life on Earth. Nothing at all. Not even you.”

Alastor gulped, like swallowing his own teeth, his eyes burning against the screen. He hadn’t noticed that all the other surrounding televisions were now filled with dead signal static. “You robbed Heaven of an angel, and turned her into your daughter.”

Even as it hurt, even as he wanted to scream, he could not look away from her. Her cheeks were so red, like cherries, like Lucifer’s. And her hair was the same color as her false parents. Had it always been like that, or had they made it that way? How much of the woman he had known and held was still in this one?

“Isn’t this what you wanted, Al?” Lucifer taunted. “After all, you were the one who wanted to send her here in the first place.”

 _‘Not like this...’_ Alastor finally closed his eyes, and as they squeezed the tears within evaporated before they could drip down his face. And he shook his head, even though Lucifer was right. He _had_ planned to send her here, as the very last sacrifice. So they could be together, forever. If he could not be with her in Heaven, then he would bring her to him, and he would have her heart, and he’d thought she’d be grateful for it right up until she’d kissed him with a knife hidden behind his back. He’d dropped the knife, so his freed hand could hold her closer, and then decided he didn’t need it. He only needed her. As in life, so in death. As above, so below.

“Where is she?” Alastor turned away from the evil screens before opening his eyes once more, dry and searching and eager to see death. 

“Somewhere safe,” Lilith assured him. “A place we built just for her, while she adjusts to her new life.” 

“Somewhere the likes of you will never be able to find her,” Lucifer added, just shying away from nudging Alastor’s chest with the apple-tip of his cane- if it had touched him, then there would be no question about the king’s continued survival in that moment. “I’m telling you that only so you don’t embarrass yourself by trying.” 

Was it supposed to be advice? Or just another cruel taunt? Alastor had no shame, no such fear of embarrassment when it came to Charlie. His soul now belonged to Hell, but his heart would always be hers. That was something no force of God or Satan could ever change, and it was another thing Lucifer was sorely misinformed about. 

Alastor could not stop the laughter this time, and he didn’t really want to. What pretense did he have left to keep up? What else did he have to hide, when the King of Hell held his heart hostage? The sound was a lonely distorted chorus in his throat and ears, his shadows shocked into silence as they writhed with uncertainty.

(They had not known Charlie in life, of course. Alastor had been very careful to keep her away from them.)

And then, when the laughter was drained from his lungs, leaving behind nothing but white noise to fill the empty space in his chest, Alastor grabbed Lucifer by his collar to pull him into a lethal range. The King did not resist, and the Queen did not even rise from her seat.

“You think you can keep me away from her?” The Radio Demon’s snarl echoed with the depths of all the nine circles he’d left in bloody ruins behind him. “Why, Lucifer, you have no idea what kind of mistake you’ve just made. Now that I know she’s here, I’ll never stop looking for her. I’ll find her. I’ll make her remember. I’ll take her away from here. And I’ll love her all over again if I have to.” 

Lucifer’s grin was a tepid, half-hearted thing compared to Alastor’s; the jaws stretched as far as they could go, the fangs threatening to break through his own skull if they were gritted with any more force. The King seemed to wait for his coat to tear on Alastor’s claws, the gloves no longer able to contain their razor edges, so that he could pull away without any more unnecessary effort.

“You’re assuming she’d want anything to do with you,” Lucifer pointed out while briskly away the remnants of Alastor’s grip, “after everything you’ve done. Now, don’t you have some more bridges to go and burn? Or are you about finished here?” Lucifer turned his back on Alastor without waiting for an answer. Clearly, he no longer regarded the Radio Demon as a guest in his home. 

“You know I’ll kill you for this,” Alastor promised, looking again at Charlie’s sleeping face even though it tortured him-

 _‘Ah,’_ he then realised. _‘The eternal torture. The endless suffering. This was what it was meant to be all along.’_

“I’ll enjoy seeing you try,” Lucifer goaded over his shoulder as he offered a hand to his wife. “And if you succeed, you’ll break her poor heart a second time. After all, what is a little girl without her father?”

Alastor tore his face from the televisions, before he could give in and destroy them all, letting Lucifer and his Queen see that this alone would not break him. “And if I fail?”

Amusement, genuine glee, glittered in Lucifer’s eyes. Like pearls drowning in pale oil. “What do you think I’ll do, Alastor? Why do you _really_ think I took her?”

_‘So you can kill her whenever you want. So you can still win, no matter what I do or don’t do.’_

With that logic, Alastor might as well have just tried to kill them both anyway. But only they knew where she was. Only they could keep her safe- _safe?-_ in a place like this. After all, if they wanted to hurt her, they wouldn’t have taken her in. No, the true torment would be giving her a good life that had nothing to do with Alastor. Making her so happy in Hell that she’d never suspect that she should have been in Heaven all along. 

Kill them with kindness. Torture them with love. There was probably something in the Bible that meant that. But at that moment, all Alastor could think of was the forbidden fruit. The apples that decorated the walls, the floors, the windows, everything in between them. Charlie would blend in perfectly amongst them; sweet as she was, forbidden as she was.

“Because you still want your revenge on Heaven,” Alastor answered, his voice like a whistle through his teeth. “You wanted to spite the ones that cast you out by taking one of their own for yourself.”

Lucifer’s eyes swelled, the heavy lids lifting so slightly as if in surprise. Lilith said nothing, did nothing as she moved on without her husband, leaving the two gentlemen alone in the humming room now filled with a red glow.

“You could have gone with them, you know,” Lucifer told him, like scolding a child after a tantrum. “In another life. You and Charlotte could have lived happily together in those gilded clouds; far away from this place. From the likes of me.” He lifted a hand toward the ceiling, the thin black claws hanging in the air before being crushed together in a fist. A representation of snatching Charlie out of the sky. “If only you hadn’t tried to take what wasn’t yours to have. And now it’s all mine.” He still held the fist, the bones in his fingers cracking together, as he leaned in so close that Alastor could have torn his face off in one bite.

“Now get the fuck out of my sight, before I’m convinced to slit her throat while she sleeps.”

Alastor heard a door open behind him, a cold draught blowing over his shoulders. He considered crushing Lucifer’s eyes, strangling him until they popped out, yanking at his vocal cords until he could not even gurgle from the blood in his throat. He considered many things as he walked away- the screens all gone, Charlie gone, the static still thick in his skin as darkness swallowed him whole. 

“Do you think she’d like some tea when she wakes up?” Lilith’s voice was faint behind him.

“With plenty of sugar, yes!” Lucifer cheered in a dull echo. “She’ll be so tired from the journey, she’ll need all the energy she can get.”

Alastor did not see himself arrive outside the castle. He simply appeared, once more in front of the doors as if he had not yet opened them. 

But he had. He had seen what lay beyond. He had seen Charlie. He had, once again, seen his end wrought in the smooth curves of her smile.

_“What do we do now, Boss?”_

_“Alastor?”_

_“Are we… gonna ascend to the throne? Like you said we would?”_

His faithful shadows spoke softly in his ear, knowing the peace was delicate but not knowing why. Mike blinked up at him, comfortably silent. He had known Charlie. He knew that now was not a time to speak.

_‘Charlie, my love… my songbird… despite everything, I dragged you down here with me after all. So I’ll bring you back out. Even if I must leave myself behind.’_

Alastor stared at the castle, knowing that she was not within it. Knowing he would return one day, when he found her. And he made a sound that could have been a laugh, or a sob, or a wail of grief.

“The show must go on, my dear friends,” he said to himself as well as his patient shades. “We’ve made ourselves known. We know what stands against us. And I think we’ve sated ourselves enough for now. There is nothing more we can do.” He twirled the microphone stand as he spun on his heel, keeping the airwaves closed for now as he left the ninth circle behind. His loyal listeners would surely understand the need for a delay. Hell wasn’t destroyed in a day, and the finale of his show deserved something spectacular.

“Give me a tune, Mike,” he told his old friend, weary and bloated, finally ready to rest. “Something to dance to. Something Charlie would like.”

“You got it, boss...”


End file.
